“Mother!” said Evan, wishing to arouse her attention. “Look, mother!”

“Good day, Mrs. Mackay,” added Major Graham, in a voice of great consideration, while she languidly turned her head towards the door. “I have come to thank you for restoring my purse this morning.”

“You are kindly welcome, Sir! What else could we do!” replied she, in a feeble, tremulous voice. “The money was yours, and the sooner it went out of our hands the better.”

“It was perfectly safe while it stayed there,” added Major Graham, not affecting to speak in a homely accent, nor putting on any airs of condescension at all, but sitting down on the old chest as if he had never sat on any thing but a chest in his life before, and looking at the clean bare floor with as much respect as if it had been a Turkey carpet. [171] “Your little boy’s pocket seems to be as safe as the Bank of Scotland.”

“That is very true, Sir! My boy is honest; and it is well to keep a good conscience, as that is all he has in this world to live for. Many have a heavy conscience to carry with a heavy purse; but these he need not envy. If we are poor in this world, we are rich in faith; and I trust the money was not even a temptation to Evan, because he has learned from the best of all teachers, that it would ‘profit him nothing to gain the whole world, and lose his own soul.’”

“True, Mrs. Mackay! most true! We have come here this morning to request that you and he will do me the favour to accept of a small recompense.”

“We are already rewarded, Sir! This has been an opportunity of testifying to our own hearts that we desire to do right in the eye of God. At the same time, it was Providence who kindly directed my son’s steps to the place where that money was lying; and if anything seems justly due to poor Evan, let him have it. My wants are few, and must soon be ended. But oh! when I look at that boy, and think of the long years he may be struggling with poverty and temptation, my heart melts within me, and my whole spirit is broken. Faith itself seems to fail, and I could be a beggar for him now! It is not money I would ask, Sir, because that might soon be spent; but get him some honest employment, and I will thank you on my very knees.”

Evan seemed startled at the sudden energy of his mother’s manner, and tears sprung into his eyes while she spoke with a degree of agitation so different from what he had ever heard before; but he struggled to conceal his feelings, and she continued with increasing emotion,

“Bodily suffering, and many a year of care and sorrow, are fast closing their work on me. The moments are passing away like a weaver’s shuttle; and if I had less anxiety [172] about Evan, how blessed a prospect it would appear; but that is the bitterness of death to me now. My poor, poor boy! I would rather hear he was in the way of earning his livelihood, than that he got a hundred a-year. Tell me, Sir!—and oh! consider you are speaking to a dying creature—can you possibly give him any creditable employment, where he might gain a crust of bread, and be independent?”

“I honour your very proper feeling on the subject, Mrs. Mackay, and shall help Evan to the best of my ability,” replied Major Graham, in a tone of seriousness and sincerity. “To judge by these fine geraniums, he must be fond of cultivating plants; and we want an under-gardener in the country; therefore he shall have that situation without loss of time.”

“Oh, mother! mother! speak no more of dying! You will surely get better now!” said Evan, looking up, while his thin pale face assumed a momentary glow of pleasure. “Try now to get better! I never could work as well, if you were not waiting to see me come home! We shall be so happy now!”

“Yes! I am happy!” said Mrs. Mackay, solemnly looking towards heaven, with an expression that could not be mistaken. “The last cord is cut that bound me to the earth; and may you, Sir, find hereafter the blessings that are promised to those who visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.”

[173]
CHAPTER XII.
 
 
THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN.

Next Monday morning, at an early hour, Frank had again found his way with great difficulty to the house of Widow Mackay, where he spent all his pocket money on two fine scarlet geraniums. If they had been nettles or cabbages, he would have felt the same pleasure in buying them; and his eyes sparkled with animation when he entered uncle David’s room, carrying them in his hand, and saying, “I was so glad to have some money! I could spare it quite well. There is no greater pleasure in being rich than to help such poor people as Evan Mackay and his poor sick mother!”

“Yes, Frank, I often wonder that any enjoyment of wealth can be considered equal to the exercise of kind feelings, for surely the most delightful sensation in this world is, to deserve and receive the grateful affection of those around us,” replied Major Graham. “What a wretched being Robinson Crusoe was on the desert island alone, though he found chests of gold, and yet many people are as unblessed in the midst of society, who selfishly hoard [174] fortunes for themselves, unmindful of the many around who ought to be gratefully receiving their daily benefits.”

“I was laughing to read lately of the West India slaves, who collected money all their lives in an old stocking,” said Frank, “and who watched with delight as it filled from year to year; but the bank is only a great stocking, where misers in this country lay up treasures for themselves which they are never to enjoy, though too often they lay up no treasures for themselves in a better world.”

“I frequently think, Frank, if all men were as liberal, kind, and forbearing to each other as the Holy Scriptures enjoin, and if we lived as soberly, temperately, and godly together, what a paradise this world would become, for many of our worst sufferings are brought on by our own folly, or the unkindness of others. And certainly, if we wished to fancy the wretchedness of hell itself, it would only be necessary to imagine what the earth would become if all fear of God and man were removed, and every person lived as his own angry, selfish passions would dictate. Great are the blessings we owe to Christianity, for making the world even what it is now, and yet greater would those blessings be, if we obeyed it better.”

“That is exactly what grandmama says, and that we must attend to the Gospel from love and gratitude to God, rather than from fear of punishment or hope of reward, which is precisely what we saw in poor widow Mackay and Evan, who seemed scarcely to expect a recompense for behaving so honestly.”

“That was the more remarkable in them, as few Christians now are above receiving a public recompense for doing their duty to God. Men of the world have long rewarded each other with public dinners and pieces of plate, to express the utmost praise and admiration, but of late I never open a newspaper without reading accounts of one clergyman or another, who has been ‘honoured with a public [175] breakfast!’ when he is presented by an admiring circle with ‘a gold watch and appendages!’ or a Bible with a complimentary inscription, or a gown, or a pair of bands, worked by the ladies of his congregation! and all this, for labouring among his own people, in his own sphere of duty! What would Archbishop Leighton and the old divines have said to any one who attempted to rouse their vanity in this way, with the praise of men?”

“What you say reminds me, uncle David,” said Frank, “that we have been asked to present our Universal-Knowledge-Master with a silver snuff-box, as a testimonial from the scholars in my class, because he is going soon to Van Dieman’s Land, therefore I hope you will give me half-a-crown to subscribe, or I shall be quite in disgrace with him.”

“Not one shilling shall you receive from me, my good friend, for any such purpose! a snuff-box, indeed! your master ought to show his scholars an example of using none! a filthy waste of health, money, and time. Such testimonials should only be given, as Archbishop Magee says, to persons who have got into some scrape, which makes their respectability doubtful. If my grocer is ever publicly presented with a pair of silver sugar tongs, I shall think he has been accused of adulterating the sugar, and give over employing him directly.”

“Laura,” said Frank, “you will be having a silver thimble voted to you for hemming six pocket-handkerchiefs in six years!”

“I know one clergyman, Dr. Seton, who conscientiously refused a piece of plate, which was about to be presented in this way,” continued Major Graham; “he accidentally heard that such a subscription was begun among the rich members of his congregation, and instantly stopped it, saying, ‘Let your testimonial consist in a regular attendance at church, and let my sole reward be enjoyed hereafter, when [176] you appear as my crown of joy and rejoicing in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ at his coming.’”

Sir Edward Graham’s particular friend, Captain Gordon, at last wrote to say, that the Thunderbolt, 74, having been put in commission for three years, was about to sail for the African station, therefore he wished Frank to join without delay; and as a farther mark of his regard, he promised that he would endeavour to keep his young protege employed until he had served out his time, because a midshipman once paid off, was like a stranded whale, not very easily set afloat again.

Lady Harriet sighed when she read the letter, and looked paler all that day, but she knew that it was right and necessary for Frank to go, therefore she said nothing to distress him on the occasion, only in her prayers and explanations of the Bible that evening, there was a deeper tone of feeling than ever, and a cast of melancholy, which had rarely been the case before, while he spoke much of that meeting in a better world, which is the surest hope and consolation of those Christians who separate on earth, and who know not what a day, and still less what many years, may bring forth.

Major Graham tried to put a cheerful face on the matter also, though he evidently felt very sorry indeed about parting with Frank, and took him out a long walk to discuss his future prospects, saying, “Now you are an officer and a gentleman, entitled therefore to be treated with new respect and attention, by all your brother officers, naval or military, in his Majesty’s service.”

Frank himself, being a boy of great spirit and enterprize, felt glad that the time had really come for his being afloat, and examining all the world over with his own eyes; but he said that his heart seemed as if it had been put in a swing, it fell so low when he thought of leaving his dear happy home, and then it rose again higher than ever at the very idea of being launched on the wide ocean, and going [177] to the countries he had so often read of, where battles had been fought and victories won.

“Frank!” said Peter Grey, who was going to join the Thunderbolt, in about a fortnight afterwards, “you have no idea how beautiful I looked in uniform to-day! I tried mine on, and felt so impatient to use my dirk, I could have eat my dinner with it, instead of employing a common knife.”

“You never forget to be hungry, Peter,” said Frank, laughing. “But now you are like the old Lord Buchan, who used to say he could cook his porridge in his helmet, and stir it with his broad-sword.”

“I hope,” said Major Graham, “you both intend to become very distinguished officers, and to leave a name at which the world grows pale.”

“Certainly,” answered Peter. “All the old heroes we read of shall be mere nobodies compared to me! I mean to lose a leg or an arm in every battle,”——

“Till nothing is left of you but your shirt-collar and shoe-strings,” interrupted Frank, laughing.

“No! No! What remains of me at last shall die a Peer of the realm,” continued Peter. “We must climb to the top of the tree, Frank! What title do you think I should take?”

“Lord Cockpit would suit you best for some time, Peter! It will not be so easy a business to rise as you think. Every one can run a race, but very few can win,” observed Major Graham. “The rarest thing on earth is to succeed in being both conspicuous and respectable. Any dunce may easily be either the one or the other, but the chief puzzle with most men is, how to be both. In your profession there are great opportunities, but at the same time let me warn you, that the sea is not a bed of roses.”

“No, uncle David! but I hope it will become a field of laurels to us,” replied Frank, laughing. “Now tell me [178] in real earnest who you think was the greatest of our naval heroes till now, when Peter is to cut them all out.”

“He must wait a few years. It is a long ladder to run up before reaching the top. In France, the king’s sons are all born Field Marshals, but nobody in this country is born an Admiral. The great Lord Duncan served during half-a-century before gaining his most important victory, but previous to that, he paved the way to success, not by mere animal courage alone, but by being so truly good and religious a man, that his extraordinary firmness and benevolence of character gained the confidence and respect of all those who served with him, and therefore half his success in battle was owing to his admirable conduct during peace.”

“So I have heard!” replied Frank; “and when there was mutiny in every other ship, the Admiral’s own crew remained faithful to him. How much better it is to be obeyed from respect and attachment than from fear, which is a mean feeling that I hope neither to feel myself, nor to excite in others. I wish to be like Nelson, who asked, ‘What is fear? I never saw it.’”

“Yes, Frank! Nelson was said to be ‘brave as a lion, and gentle as a lamb.’ Certainly both he and Lord Duncan were pre-eminently great; but neither Lord Duncan, nor any other enlightened Christian, would have said what Lord Nelson did, with his latent breath—‘I have not been a great sinner!’ No mortal could lift up his eyes at the day of judgment, and repeat those words again; for every man that breathes the breath of life is a great sinner. We are living in God’s own world without remembering him, continually; and amidst thousands of blessings we disobey him. The chief purpose for which men are created, is to glorify God, and to prepare for entering his presence in a better world; but instead of doing so, we live as if there were no other object to live for, than our own pleasures and amusements on earth. How, then, can we be otherwise [179] than great sinners? I hope, Frank, that you will endeavour to be, like Lord Duncan, not merely a good officer, but also a good Christian; for, besides fighting the battles of your country, you must gain a great victory over yourself, as all men must either conquer their own evil dispositions, or perish for ever.”

Lady Harriet was particularly earnest in entreating Frank to write frequently home; observing, that she considered it a religious duty in all children, to shew their parents this attention, as the Bible says that “a wise son maketh a glad father,” and that “the father of the righteous shall greatly rejoice;” but on the contrary, too many young persons leave their parents to mourn in suspense and anxiety, as to the health and happiness of those whom they love more than they can ever love any one else.

“Tell us of every thing that interests you, and even all about the spouting whales, flying fish, and dying dolphins, which you will of course see,” said Laura. “Be sure to write us also, how many albatrosses you shoot, and whether you are duly introduced to Neptune at the Cape.”

“Yes, Laura! but Bishop Heber’s Journal, or any other book describing a voyage to the Cape, mentions exactly the same thing. It will quite bring me home again when I speak to you all on paper; and I shall be able to fancy what everybody will say when my letter is read. Mrs. Darwin sent for me this morning on particular business; and it was to say that she wished me, in all the strange countries where the Thunderbolt touched, to employ my spare moments in chasing butterflies, that as many as possible might be added to her museum.”

“Capital! How like Mrs. Darwin!” exclaimed Major Graham, laughing. “You will of course be running all over Africa, hat in hand, pursuing painted butterflies, till you get a coup de soleil, like my friend Watson, who was killed by one. Poor fellow! I was with him then, and it was a frightful [180] scene. He wheeled round several times, in a sort of convulsion, till he dropped down dead in my arms.”

“I shall gild the legs and bills of some ducks before leaving home, and send them to her as a present from Sierra Leone,” said Peter. “The wings might be died scarlet, which would look quite foreign; and if an elephant falls in my way, it shall be stuffed and forwarded by express.”

“Uncle David! Do you remember what fun we had, when you sent Mrs. Darwin that stuffed bear in a present! I was desired to announce that a foreigner of distinction had arrived to stay at her house. What a bustle she was in on hearing that he brought letters of introduction from you, and intended to remain some time. Then we told her that he could not speak a word of English, and brought ‘a Pole’ with him; besides which he had once been a great dancer. Oh! how amusing it was, when she at last ventured into the passage to be introduced, and saw her fine stuffed bear.”

“Whatever people collect,” said Peter, “every good-natured person assists. I mean to begin a collection of crooked sixpences immediately; therefore, pray never spend another, but give me as many as you can spare; and the more crooked the better.”

“Sing a song a sixpence!” said Frank, laughing. “Laura should begin to collect diamonds for a necklace, and perhaps it might be all ready before she comes out. I shall return home on purpose to see you then, Laura.”

“Pray do, Master Frank,” said Mrs. Crabtree, with more than usual kindness; “we shall have great rejoicings on the occasion of seeing you back—an ox roasted alive, as they do in England, and all them sort of Tom-fooleries. I’ll dance a jig then myself for joy—you certainly are a wonderful good boy, considering that I had not the managing of you.”

Frank’s departure was delayed till after the examination of his school, because Mr. Lexicon had requested that, being the best scholar there, he might remain to receive a whole [181] library of prize-books, and a whole pocketful of medals; for, as Peter remarked, “Frank Graham deserved any reward, because he learned his lessons so perfectly, that he could not say them wrong even if he wished!”

Harry and Laura were allowed to attend on the great occasion, that they might witness Frank’s success; and never, certainly, had they seen any thing so grand in their lives before! A hundred and forty boys, all dressed in white trowsers and yellow gloves, were seated in rows, opposite to six grave learned-looking gentlemen, in wigs and spectacles, who seemed as if they would condemn all the scholars to death!

The colour mounted into Harry’s cheeks with delight, and the tears rushed into his eyes, when he saw Frank, whose face was radiant with good-humour and happiness, take his place as head boy in the school. All his companions had crowded round Frank as he entered, knowing that this was his last appearance in the class; while he spoke a merry or a kind word to each, leaning on the shoulder of one, and grasping the hand of another with cordial kindness, for he liked everybody, and everybody liked him. No one envied Frank being dux, because they knew how hard he worked for that place, and how anxious he had been to help every other boy in learning as cleverly as himself; for all the boobies would have become duxes if Frank could have assisted them to rise, while many an idler had been made busy by his attention and advice. No boy ever received, in one day, more presents than Frank did on this occasion from his young friends, who spent all their pocket-money in pen-knives and pencil-cases, which were to be kept by Frank, in remembrance of them, as long as he lived; and some of his companions had a tear in their eye on bidding him farewell, which pleased him more than all their gifts.

Major Graham took his place, with more gravity than usual, among the judges appointed to distribute the prizes; [182] and now, during more than two hours, the most puzzling questions that could be invented were put to every scholar in succession, while Frank seemed always ready with an answer, and not only spoke for himself, but often good-naturedly prompted his neighbours, in so low a tone that no one else heard him. His eyes brightened, and his face grew red with anxiety, while even his voice shook at first; but before long Frank collected all his wits about him, and could construe Latin or repeat Greek with perfect ease, till at length the whole examination concluded, and the great Dr. Clifford, who had lately come all the way from Oxford, was requested to present the prizes. Upon this he rose majestically from his arm-chair, and made a long speech, filled as full as it could hold with Latin and Greek. He praised Homer and Horace for nearly twenty minutes, and brought in several lines from Virgil, after which he turned to Frank, saying, in a tone of great kindness and condescension, though at the same time exceedingly pompous,

“It seems almost a pity that this young gentleman—already so very accomplished a scholar—who is, I may say, a perfect multum in parvo, should prematurely pause in his classical career to enter the navy; but in every situation of life his extraordinary activity of mind, good temper, courage and ability, must render him an honour to his country and his profession.”

Dr. Clifford now glanced over the list of prizes, and read aloud—“First prize for Greek—Master Graham!”

Frank walked gracefully forward, coloured and bowed, while a few words of approbation were said to him, and a splendidly-bound copy of Euripides was put into his hands by Dr. Clifford, who then hastily read over the catalogue of prizes to himself, in an audible voice, and in a tone of great surprise.

“First prize for Latin!—Master Graham! First for algebra,—first for geography,—first for mathematics,—all [183] Master Graham!!!—and last, not least, a medal for general good conduct, which the boys are allowed to bestow upon the scholar they think most deserving,—and here stands the name of Master Graham again!!”

Dr. Clifford paused, while the boys all stood up for a moment and clapped their hands with enthusiasm, as a token of rejoicing at the destination of their own medal.

For the first time Frank was now completely overcome,—he coloured more deeply than before, and looked gratefully round, first at his companions, then at his master, and last at Major Graham, who had a tear standing in his eye when he smiled upon Frank, and held out his hand.

Frank’s lip quivered for a moment, as if he would burst into tears, but with a strong effort he recovered himself, and affectionately grasping his uncle’s hand, hastily resumed his place on the bench, to remain there while his companions received the smaller prizes awarded to them.

Meanwhile, Harry had been watching Frank with a feeling of joy and pride, such as he never experienced before, and could scarcely refrain from saying to every person near him, “That is my brother!” He looked at Frank long and earnestly, wishing to be like him, and resolving to follow his good example at school. He gazed again and again, with new feelings of pleasure and admiration, till gradually his thoughts became melancholy, while remembering how soon they must be separated; and suddenly the terrible idea darted into his mind, “Perhaps we never may meet again!” Harry tried not to think of this; he turned his thoughts to other subjects; he forced himself to look at anything that was going on, but still these words returned with mournful apprehension to his heart, “Perhaps we never may meet again!”

Frank’s first action, after the examination had been concluded, was hastily to gather up all his books, and bring a sight of them to Harry and Laura; but what was his [184] astonishment when, instead of looking at the prizes, Harry suddenly threw his arms round his neck, and burst into tears.

“My dear—dear boy! what has happened!” exclaimed Frank, affectionately embracing him, and looking much surprised. “Tell me, dear Harry, has any thing distressed you?”

“I don’t know very well, Frank! but you are going away,—and—and—I wish I had been a better boy! I would do any thing you bid me now!—but I shall never be so happy again—no! never, without you!”

“But, dear Harry! you will have Laura and grandmama, and uncle David, all left, and I am coming back some day! Oh! what a happy meeting we shall have then!” said Frank, while the tears stood in his eyes; and drawing Harry’s arm within his own, they walked slowly away together.

“I am very—very anxious for you and Laura to be happy,” continued Frank, in the kindest manner; “but, dear Harry, will you not take more care to do as you are bid, and not always to prefer doing what you like! Mrs. Crabtree would not be half so terrible if you did not provoke her by some new tricks every day. I almost like her myself; for as the old proverb says, ‘her bark is worse than her bite;’ and she often reminds me of that funny old fable, where the mice were more afraid of the loud, fierce-looking cock, than of the sleek, smooth-looking cat, for there are people carrying gentler tongues yet quite as difficult to deal with. At the same time, seeing how uncomfortable you and Laura both feel with Mrs. Crabtree, I have written a letter to papa, asking, as my last and only request on leaving home, that he will make a change of ministry, and he is always so very kind, that I feel sure he will grant it.”

“How good of you, Frank!” said Harry. “I am sure it is our own faults very often when we are in disgrace, for [185] we are seldom punished till we deserve it; but I am so sorry you are going away, that I can think of nothing else.”

“So am I, very sorry indeed; but my best comfort, when far from home, would be, to think that you and Laura are happy, which will be the case when you become more watchful to please grandmama.”

“That is very true, Frank! and I would rather offend twenty Mrs. Crabtrees than one grandmama; but perhaps uncle David may send me to school now, when I shall try to be like you, sitting at the top of the class, and getting prizes for good behaviour.”

“Well, Harry! my pleasantest days at school have been those when I was busiest, and you will find the same thing. How delightful it was, going over and over my tasks till they were quite perfect, and then rushing out to the play-ground, where my mind got a rest, while my body was active; you know it is seldom that both mind and body work at once, and the best way of resting the one is, to make the other labour. That is probably the reason, Harry, why games are never half so pleasant as after hard study.”

“Perhaps,” replied Harry, doubtfully; “but I always hate any thing that I am obliged to do.”

“Then never be a sailor, as I shall be obliged to do fifty things a-day that I would rather not; for instance, to get up in the middle of the night, when very likely dreaming about being at home again; but, as grandmama says, it is pleasant to have some duties, for life would not get on well without them.”

“Yes—perhaps—I don’t know!—we could find plenty to do ourselves, without anybody telling us. I should like to-morrow, to watch the boys playing at cricket, and to see the races, and the Diorama, and in the evening to shoot our bows and arrows.”

“My good Sir! what the better would you, or [186] anybody else, be of such a life as that! Not a thing in this world is made to be useless, Harry; the very weeds that grow in the ground are for some serviceable purpose, and you would not wish to be the only creature on earth living entirely for yourself. It would be better if neither of us had ever been born, than that the time and opportunities which God gives us for improving ourselves and doing good to others, should all be wasted. Let me hope, Harry, when I am away, that you will often consider how dull grandmama may then feel, and how happy you might make her by being very attentive and obedient.”

“Yes, Frank! but I could never fill your place!—that is quite impossible! Nobody can do that!”

“Try!—only try, Harry! grandmama is very easily pleased when people do their best. She would not have felt so well satisfied with me, if that had not been the case.”

“Frank!” said Harry, sorrowfully, “I feel as if ten brothers were going away instead of one, for you are so good to me! I shall be sure to mention you in my prayers, because that is all I can do for you now.”

“Not all, Harry! though that is a great deal; you must write to me often, and tell me what makes you happy or unhappy, for I shall be more interested than ever, now that we are separated. Tell me everything about my school-fellows, too, and about Laura. There is no corner of the wide world where I shall not think of you both every day, and feel anxious about the very least thing that concerns you.”

“My dear boys!” said Major Graham, who had joined them some moments before, “it is fortunate that you have both lived always in the same home, for that will make you love each other affectionately as long as you live. In England, children of one family are all scattered to different schools, without any one to care whether they are attached or not, therefore their earliest and warmest friendships are [187] formed with strangers of the same age, whom they perhaps never see again, after leaving school. In that case, brothers have no happy days of childhood to talk over in future life, as you both have,—no little scrapes to remember, that they got into together—no pleasures enjoyed at the same moment to smile at the recollection of, and no friction of their tempers in youth, such as makes every thing go on smoothly between brothers when they grow older; therefore, when at last grown up and thrown together, they scarcely feel more mutual friendship and intimacy than any other gentlemen testify towards each other.”

“I dare say that is very true,” said Frank. “Tom Brownlow tells me when his three brothers come home from Eton, Harrow, and Durham, they quarrel so excessively, that sometimes no two of them are on speaking terms.”

“Not at all improbable,” observed Major Graham. “In every thing we see how much better God’s arrangements are than our own. Families were intended to be like a little world in themselves—old people to govern the young ones—young people to make their elders cheerful—grown-up brothers and sisters to show their juniors a good example—and children to be playthings and companions to their seniors, but that is all at an end in the present system.”

“Old Andrew says that large families ‘squander’ themselves all over the earth now,” said Frank, laughing.

“Yes! very young children are thrust into preparatory schools—older boys go to distant academies—youths to College—and young men are shipped off abroad, while who among them all can say his heart is in his own home? Parents in the meantime, finding no occupation or amusement in educating their children, begin writing books, perhaps theories of education, or novels; and try to fill up the rest of their useless hours with plays, operas, concerts, balls, or clubs. If people could only know what is the best happiness [188] of this life, it certainly depends on being loved by those we belong to; for nothing can be called peace on earth, which does not consist in family affection, built upon a strong foundation of religion and morality.”

Sir Edward Graham felt very proud of Frank, as all gentlemen are of their eldest sons, and wrote a most affectionate letter on the occasion of his going to sea, promising to meet him at Portsmouth, and lamenting that he still felt so ill and melancholy he could not return home, but meant to try whether the baths in Germany would do him any good. In this letter was enclosed what he called “Frank’s first prize-money,” the largest sum the young midshipman had ever seen in his life, and before it had been a day in his possession, more than the half was spent on presents to his friends. Not a single person seemed to be forgotten except himself; for Frank was so completely unselfish, that Peter Grey once laughingly said, “Frank scarcely remembers there is such a person as himself in the world, therefore it is astonishing how he contrives to exist at all.”

“If that be his worst fault, you shew him a very opposite example, Peter,” said Major Graham, smiling; “number one is a great favourite with you.”

“Frank is also very obliging!” added Lady Harriet; “he would do anything for any body.”

“Ah, poor fellow! he can’t help that,” said Peter, in a tone of pity. “Some people are born with that sort of desperate activity—flying to assist every one—running up stairs for whatever is wanted—searching for whatever is lost—and picking up whatever has been dropped. I have seen several others like Frank, who were troubled with that sort of turn. He is indulging his own inclination in flying about everywhere for everybody, as much as I do in sitting still!—it is all nature!—you know tastes differ, for some people like apples and some like onions.”

Frank had a black shade of himself, drawn in uniform [189] and put into a gilt frame, all for one shilling, which he presented to his grandmama, who looked sadly at the likeness when he came smiling into her dressing-room, and calling Harry to assist in knocking a nail into the wall, that it might be hung above the chimney-piece. “I need nothing to remind me of you, dear Frank,” observed Lady Harriet, “and this is a sad exchange, the shadow for the substance.” Frank gave a handsome new red morocco spectacle-case to uncle David, and asked leave to carry away the old one with him as a remembrance. He bought gowns for all the maids, and books for all the men-servants. He presented Mrs. Crabtree with an elegant set of tea-cups and saucers, promising to send her a box of tea the first time he went to China; and for Laura and Harry he produced a magnificent magic lanthorn, representing all the stars and planets, which cost him several guineas. It was exhibited the evening before Frank went away, and caused great entertainment to a large party of his companions, who assembled at tea to take leave of him, on which occasion Peter Grey made a funny speech, proposing Frank’s health in a bumper of bohea, when the whole party became very merry, and did not disperse till ten.

Major Graham intended accompanying Frank to Portsmouth, and they were to set off by the mail next evening. That day was a sad one to Harry and Laura, who were allowed a whole holiday; but not a sound of merriment was heard in the house, except when Frank tried to make them cheerful, by planning what was to be done after he came back, or when Major Graham invented droll stories about the adventures Frank would probably meet with at sea. Even Mrs. Crabtree looked more grave and cross than usual; and she brought Frank a present of a needle-case made with her own hands, and filled with thread of every kind, saying, that she heard all “midshipmites” learned to mend their things, and keep them decent, which was an [190] excellent custom, and ought to be encouraged; but she hoped he would remember, that “a stitch in time saves nine.”

Lady Harriet stayed most of that day in her dressing-room, and tried to conceal the traces of many tears when she did appear; but it was only too evident how sadly her time had been passed alone.

“Grandmama!” said Frank, taking her hand affectionately, and trying to look cheerful; “we shall meet again; perhaps very soon!”

Lady Harriet silently laid her hand upon the Bible, to show that there she found the certain assurance of another meeting in a better world; but she looked at Frank with melancholy affection, and added, very solemnly and emphatically,

“But, grandmama! you are not so very old!” exclaimed Laura, earnestly. “Lord Rockville was born ten years sooner, and besides, young people sometimes die before older people.”

“Yes, Laura! young people may die, but old people must. It is not possible that this feeble aged frame of mine can long remain in the visible world. ‘The eye of him that hath seen me shall me no more.’ I have many more friends under the earth now, than on it. The streets of this city would be crowded, if all those I once knew and still remember, could be revived; but my turn is fast coming, like theirs, and Frank knows, as all of you do, where it is my hope and prayer that we may certainly meet again.”

“Grandmama!” said Frank, in a low and broken voice, “it wants but an hour to the time of my departure; I should like much if the servants were to come up now for family prayers and if uncle David would read us the 14th chapter of St. John.”

[191]
Lady Harriet rung the bell, and before long the whole household had assembled, as not one would have been absent on the night of Master Frank’s departure from home, which all were deeply grieved at, and even Mrs. Crabtree dashed a tear from her cheek as she entered the room.

Frank sat with his hand in Lady Harriet’s, while Major Graham read the beautiful and comforting chapter which had been selected, and when the whole family kneeled in solemn prayer together, many a deep sob, which could not be conquered, was heard from Frank himself. After all was over, he approached the servants, and silently shook hands with each, but could not attempt to speak; after which Lady Harriet led him to her dressing-room, where they remained some time, till, the carriage having arrived, Frank hastened into the drawing-room, clasped Harry and Laura in his arms, and having, in a voice choked with grief, bid them both a long farewell, he hurried out of their presence.

When the door closed, something seemed to fall heavily on the ground, but this scarcely attracted any one’s attention, till Major Graham followed Frank, and was shocked to find him lying on the staircase perfectly insensible. Instead of calling for assistance, however, uncle David carefully lifted Frank in his own arms, and carried him to the carriage, where, after a few moments, the fresh air, and the rapid motion revived his recollection, and he burst into tears.

“Poor grandmama! and Harry and Laura!” cried he, weeping convulsively. “Oh! when shall I see them all again!”

“My dear boy!” said Major Graham, trying to be cheerful; “do you think nobody ever left home before? One would suppose you never expected to come back! Three years seem an age when we look forward, but are nothing after they have fled. The longer we live, the shorter every [192] year appears, and it will seem only the day after to-morrow when you are rushing into the house again, and all of us standing at the door to welcome you back. Think what a joyous moment that will be! There is a wide and wonderful world for you to see first, and then a happy home afterwards to revisit.”

“Yes, dear, good, kind uncle David! no one ever had a happier home; and till the east comes to the west, I shall never cease to think of it with gratitude to you and grandmama. We shall surely all meet again. I must live upon that prospect. Hope is the jewel that remains wherever we go, and the hope to which grandmama has directed me, is truly compared to a rainbow, which not only brightens the earth, but stretches to heaven.”

[193]
CHAPTER XIII.
 
 
THE AMUSING DRIVE.

Lady Harriet was confined to bed for several days after Frank’s departure from home, and during all that week Harry and Laura felt so melancholy, that even Mrs. Crabtree became sorry for them, saying it was quite distressing to see how quiet and good they had become, for Master Harry was as mild as milk now, and she almost wished he would be at some of his old tricks again.

On the following Monday, a message arrived from Lady Rockville, to say that she was going a long drive in her phaeton, to visit some boys at Musselburgh school, and would be happy to take Harry and Laura of the party, if their grandmama had no objection. None being made by anybody, they flew up stairs to get ready, while Harry did not take above three steps at a time, and Laura, when she followed, felt quite astonished to find Mrs. Crabtree looking almost as pleased as herself, and saying she hoped the expedition would do them both good.

Before five minutes had elapsed, Harry was mounted on the dickey, where Lady Rockville desired him to sit, [194] instead of the footman, who was now dismissed, as no room could be made for both; so after that Harry touched his hat whenever any of the party spoke to him, as if he had really been the servant.

Laura, meanwhile, was placed between Lady Rockville and Miss Perceval, where she could hardly keep quiet a minute for joy, though afraid to turn her head or to stir her little finger, in case of being thought troublesome.

“I am told that the races take place at Musselburgh to-day,” said Lady Rockville. “It is a cruel amusement, derived from the sufferings of noble animals; they have as good a right to be happy in the world as ourselves, Laura; but we shall pass that way, so Harry and you will probably see the crowds of carriages.”

“Oh, how enchanting!—I never saw a race-course in my life!” exclaimed Laura, springing off her seat with delight. “Harry! Harry! we are going to the races!”

“Hurra!” exclaimed Harry, clapping his hands; “what a delightful surprise! Oh! I am so dreadfully happy!”

“After all, my dear Lady Rockville,” said Miss Perceval, yawning, “what have horses got legs for, except to run?”

“Yes, but not at such a pace! It always shocked me—formerly at Doncaster, where the jockeys were sometimes paid £1000 for winning—to see how the poor animals were lashed and spurred along the course, foaming with fatigue, gasping till they nearly expired. Horses, poor creatures, from the hour of their birth till their death, have a sad time of it!”

“Grandmama once read me a beautiful description of a wild horse in his natural state of liberty,” said Laura. “Among the South American forests he was to be seen carrying his head erect, with sparkling eyes, flowing mane, and splendid tail, trotting about among the noble trees, or [195] cropping the grass at his feet, looking quite princely, and doing precisely what he pleased.”

“Then look at the contrast,” said Lady Rockville, pointing to a long row of cart-horses with galled sides, shrivelled skins, broken knees, and emaciated bodies, which were all dragging their weary load along. “Animals are all meant for the use of man, but not to be abused, like these poor creatures!”

“As for racing,” said Miss Perceval, “a thorough-bred horse enters into the spirit of it quite as much as his rider. Did you never hear of Quin’s celebrated steed, which became so eager to win, that when his antagonist passed he seized him violently by the leg, and both jockeys had to dismount that the furious animal might be torn away. The famous horse Forester, too, caught hold of his opponent by the jaw, and could scarcely be disengaged.”

“Think of all the cruel training these poor creatures went through before they came to that,” added Lady Rockville; “of the way in which horses are beaten, spurred, and severely cut with the whip; then, after their strength fails, like the well-known ‘high-mettled racer,’ the poor animal is probably sold at last to perpetual hard labour and ill-usage.”

“Uncle David shewed me yesterday,” said Laura, “that horrid picture which you have probably seen, by Cruickshanks, of the Knackers’ Yards in London, where old horses are sent to end their miserable days, after it is impossible to torture them any longer into working. Oh! it was dreadful! and yet grandmama said the whole sketch had been taken from life.”

“I know that,” answered Lady Rockville. “In these places the wretched animals are literally put to death by starvation, and may be seen gnawing each other’s manes in the last agonies of hunger.”

“My dear Lady Rockville,” exclaimed Miss Perceval, [196] affectedly, “how can you talk of such unpleasant things!—there is an Act of Parliament against cruelty to animals, so of course no such thing exists now. Many gentlemen are vastly kind to old horses, turning them out to grass for years, that they may enjoy a life of elegant leisure and rural retirement, to which, no doubt, some are well entitled; for instance, the famous horse Eclipse, which gained his owner £25,000! I wish he had been mine!”

“But think how many are ruined when one is enriched, and indeed both are ruined in morals and good feeling; therefore I am glad that our sex have never yet taken to the turf. It is bad enough, my dear Miss Perceval, to see that they have taken to the moors; for were I to say all I think of those amazons who lately killed their six brace of grouse on the 12th of August, they would probably challenge me to single combat. Lord Rockville says, ‘What with gentlemen doing worsted work, and ladies shouldering double-barrelled guns, he scarcely thinks this can be the same world he was born in long ago.’”

The carriage, at this moment, began to proceed along the road with such extraordinary rapidity, that there seemed no danger of their following in the dust of any other equipage, and Miss Perceval became exceedingly alarmed, especially when Lady Rockville mentioned that this was one of the first times she had been driven by her new coachman, who seemed so very unsteady on his seat, she had felt apprehensive, for some time, that he might be drunk.

“A tipsy coachman! Dear Lady Rockville, do let me out! We shall certainly be killed in this crowd of carriages! I can walk home! Pray stop him, Miss Laura! I came to look on at a race, but not to run one myself! This fast driving is like a railroad, only not quite so straight! I do verily believe we are run off with! Stop, coachman!—stop!”

In spite of all Miss Perceval’s exclamations and vociferations, the carriage flew on with frightful rapidity, though [197] it reeled from side to side of the road, as if it had become intoxicated like the driver himself, who lashed his horses and galloped along, within an inch of hedges and ditches all the way, till at last, having reached the race-course, he pulled up so suddenly and violently, that the horses nearly fell back on their haunches, while he swore at them in the most furious and shocking manner.

Lady Rockville now stood up, and spoke to the coachman very severely on his misconduct, in first driving her so dangerously fast, and then being disrespectful enough to use profane language in her presence, adding, that if he did not conduct himself more properly, she must complain to Lord Rockville as soon as the carriage returned home. Upon hearing this, the man looked exceedingly sulky, and muttered angrily to himself in a tipsy voice, till at last he suddenly threw away the reins, and, rising from the box, he began to scramble his way down, nearly falling to the ground in his haste, and saying, “if your ladyship is not pleased with my driving, you may drive yourself!”

After this the intoxicated man staggered towards a drinking-booth not far off, and disappeared, leaving Miss Perceval perfectly planet-struck with astonishment, and actually dumb during several minutes with wonder, at all she heard and saw. There sat Harry, alone on the dicky, behind two spirited blood-horses, foaming at the mouth with the speed at which they had come, and ready to start off again at the slightest hint, while noises on every side were to be heard enough to frighten a pair of hobby-horses. Piemen ringing their bells—blind fiddlers playing out of tune—boys calling lists of the horses—drums beating at the starting-post—ballad singers squalling at the full pitch of their voices—horses galloping—grooms quarrelling—dogs barking—and children crying.

In the midst of all this uproar, Harry unexpectedly observed Captain Digby on horseback not far off. Without losing [198] a moment, he stood up, waving his handkerchief, and calling to beg he would come to the carriage immediately, as they were in want of assistance; and Lady Rockville told, as soon as he arrived, though hardly able to help laughing while she explained it, the extraordinary predicament they had been placed in. Captain Digby, upon hearing the story, looked ready to go off like a squib with rage at the offending coachman, and instantly seizing the driving-whip, he desired his servant to hold the horses’ heads, while he proceeded towards the drinking-booth, flourishing the long lash in his hand as he went in a most ominous manner. Several minutes elapsed, during which Harry overheard a prodigious outcry in the tent, and then the drunken coachman was seen reeling away along the road, while Captain Digby, still brandishing the whip, returned, and mounting the dicky himself, he gathered up the reins, and insisted on driving Lady Rockville’s phaeton for her. Before long it was ranged close beside a chariot so full of ladies, it seemed ready to burst, when Harry was amused to perceive that Peter Grey and another boy, who were seated on the rumble behind, had spread a table-cloth on the roof of the carriage, using it for a dining-table, while they all seemed determined to astonish their appetites by the quantity of oysters and sandwiches they ate, and by drinking at the same time large tumblers of porter. Lady Rockville wished she could have the loan of Harry and Laura’s spirits for an hour or two, when she saw how perfectly bewildered with delight they were on beholding the thousands of eager persons assembled on the race-ground,—jockeys riding about in liveries as gay as tulips—officers in scarlet uniform—red flags fluttering in the breeze—caravans exhibiting pictures of the wildest-looking beasts in the world—bands of music—recruiting parties—fire-eaters, who dined on red-hot pokers—portraits representing pigs fatter than the fattest in the world—giants a head and three pair of shoulders taller than [199] any one else, and little dwarfs, scarcely visible with the naked eye—all of which were shown to children for half price!

Lady Rockville very good naturedly gave Harry half-a-crown, promising that, before leaving the race-ground, he should either buy some oranges to lay the dust in his throat after so long a drive, or visit as many shows as he pleased for his half-crown; and they were anxiously discussing what five sights would be worth sixpence each, when a loud hurra was heard, the drums beat, and five horses started off for the first heat. Harry stood up in an ecstacy of delight, and spoke loudly in admiration of the jockey on a grey horse, with a pink jacket, who took the lead, and seemed perfectly to fly, as if he need never touch the ground; but Harry exclaimed angrily against the next rider, in a yellow dress and green cap, who pulled back his own bay horse, as if he really wished to lose. To Laura’s astonishment, however, Captain Digby preferred him, and Miss Perceval declared in favour of a light-blue jacket and chesnut horse. Harry now thought everybody stupid not to agree with him, and called out in the height of his eagerness, “I would bet this half-crown upon the pink jacket!”

“Done!” cried Peter, laughing. “The yellow dress and green cap for my money!”

“Then I shall soon have five shillings!” exclaimed Harry in great glee; but scarcely had he spoken, before a loud murmuring sound arose among the surrounding crowd, upon hearing which he looked anxiously about, and was astonished to see the green cap and yellow dress already at the winning-post, while his own favourite grey horse cantered slowly along, far behind all the others, carrying the jockey in the pink jacket, who hung his head, and was bent nearly double, with shame and fatigue.

Peter Grey gave a loud laugh of triumph when he glanced at Harry’s disappointed angry countenance, and held out [200] his hand for the half-crown, saying, “Pay your debt of honour, Master Harry! It is rather fortunate I won, seeing that not one sixpence had I to have paid you with! not a penny to jingle on a mile-stone. You had more money than wit, and I had more wit than money, so we are well met. Did you not see that the grey horse had fallen lame? Good-bye, youngster! I shall tell all the giants and wild beasts to expect you another day!”

“Harry!” said Lady Rockville, looking gravely at his enraged countenance, “it is a foolish fish that is caught with every bait! I am quite relieved that you lost that money. This is an early lesson against gambling, and no one can ever be rich or happy who becomes fond of it. We were wrong to bring you here at all; and I now see you could easily be led into that dreadful vice, which has caused misery and ruin to thousands of young men. If you had possessed an estate, it would have been thrown away quite as foolishly as the poor half-crown, making you perhaps miserable afterwards for life.”

“I thought myself quite sure to win!” exclaimed Harry, still looking with angry astonishment after Peter, who was making odd grimaces, and holding up the half-crown in a most teazing manner. “I would rather have thrown my money into the sea than given it to Peter.”

“Think, too, how many pleasanter and better ways there are, in which you might have spent it!” added Lady Rockville. “Look at that poor blind man whom you could have relieved, or consider what a nice present you should have given to Laura! But there seem to be no more brains in your head, Harry, than in her thimble!”

“Peter is quite a little black-leg already,” observed Miss Perceval. “I never saw such a boy! So fond of attracting notice, that he would put on a cap and bells if that would make him stared at. Last Saturday he undertook for a bet to make a ceremonious bow to every lamp-post along [201] Prince’s Street, and I wish you could have seen the wondering crowd that gradually collected as he went along, performing his task with the most perfect composure and impudence.”

“For cool assurance, I hope there are not many boys equal to him,” said Lady Rockville. “He scattered out of the window lately several red-hot half-pence, among some beggars, and I am told they perfectly stuck to the poor creatures’ fingers when trying to pick them up; and he was sent a message, on his pony, one very cold day lately, to Lady De Vere’s, who offered, when he was taking leave, to cut him one of her finest camellias, to which he replied, ‘I would much rather you offered me a hot potatoe!’”

“Peter feels no sympathy in your disappointment, Harry,” added Miss Perceval; “but we might as well expect wool on a dog, as friendship from a gambler, who would ruin his own father, and always laughs at those who lose.”

“Go and cut your wisdom teeth, Harry!” said Captain Digby, smiling. “Any one must have been born blind not to observe that the grey horse was falling behind; but you have bought half-a-crown’s worth of wisdom by experience, and I hope it will last for life. Never venture to bet even that your own head is on your shoulders, or it may turn out a mistake.”

“Harry is now the monkey that has seen the world, and I think it will be a whole year of Saturdays before he ever commits such a blunder again,” continued Lady Rockville. “We must for this once, not complain of what has occurred to Lady Harriet, because she would be exceedingly displeased, but certainly you are a most ingenious little gentleman for getting into scrapes!”

Harry told upon himself, however, on his return home, because he had always been accustomed to do so, knowing Major Graham and his grandmama were never very angry at any fault that was confessed and repented of, therefore he [202] went straight up stairs, and related his whole history to uncle David, who gave him a very serious exhortation against the foolish and sinful vice of gambling. To keep him in mind of his silly adventure that day, Harry was also desired, during the whole evening, to wear his coat turned inside out, a very frequent punishment administered by Major Graham for small offences, and which was generally felt to be a terrible disgrace.

[203]
CHAPTER XIV.
 
 
THE UNEXPECTED EVENT.